


Kiss the demons out of my dreams

by katnor



Series: Elves in Time [4]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Artists, Celebrimbor Has Issues, Celebrimbor is bad at lying, Family, Friendship, Gen, Gratuitous use of Quenya, Healing, Modern Era, Poor Celebrimbor, Rebirth, Uncle Makalaurë
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 16:46:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19177360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katnor/pseuds/katnor
Summary: After long Ages in the Halls of Mandos, Celebrimbor is reembodied and sent out into the world again by Námo. The Doomsman of the Valar has all but given up hope of the silversmith ever forgiving himself, long after everyone else has. He drops the hapless Fëanorian off in a city not far from the Arctic Circle, in hopes he will begin his healing among mortal Men of this Age.





	1. I'm still breathing

**Author's Note:**

> This story began as a NaNoWriMo project last November. I hope to have it all wrapped up before November this year...

Never before had it taken so long for an Elf to be healed enough to let out of Mandos to be reembodied. Námo was beginning to despair, seeing one after the other of the sons of Fëanor leave his Halls, even cold Curufin who was the last of the brothers out. His son, however… Námo could not fathom why Celebrimbor refused healing, refused pardon, refused to talk to his kin. He didn’t even have too much weighing his conscience, mainly it was his naïve belief in the good in people that caused his and Eregion’s fall. This was hardly something warranting punishment. 

As long as Celebrimbor refused to acknowledge he hadn’t been at fault, there was no healing for him, and Námo was unwilling to let him out into the world unhealed. But as Age followed Age, and Celebrimbor was still drifting around the Halls like a shadow, Námo came to a decision. He would let him out, only halfway healed, but not in Aman. He would send him to Ennor. It might be a mistake, but after discussing it with his brother Irmo, he concluded it might well be the only way to restore the silversmith to his former ebullient self. 

Even after being reembodied, Celebrimbor suffered ailments that stemmed from his torture at Sauron’s hands. He had bouts of a terrible migraine that incapacitated him from time to time, he slept very little and what sleep he got was disturbed by aching joints and muscles that no amount of healing could cure. 

Ennor, in this Age, was nothing like it had been in earlier Ages. The Keeper of the Waiting Halls tried to explain the new Age to the silversmith, but there was nothing that could have prepared him for Stockholm in a heat wave. He was dropped off by the Doomsman of the Valar at the Vaxholm fortress with a ticket for the ferry that took him to the centre of Stockholm. 

Celebrimbor got off the ferry and stood on the quay looking at the place he’d ended up. It was teeming with people, and he quickly realised he would have to move out of the way, as he was jostled back and forth by busy locals and stressed-out tourists. It was overwhelming to say the least, and he felt the first warning stabs of a headache that could quickly develop into a crippling migraine. He had to get away quickly, from the heat, the sun and the masses of people. He stumbled and cried out as pain lanced through his skull.

“Mår du dåligt? Kan jag hjälpa dej?” The concerned tone made him look up even though he didn’t understand the words. 

“I am sorry… I do not speak…” He whimpered and pressed his hands against his head in a futile attempt to keep the headache from intensifying. 

“Oh, you speak English! Are you ill? Is there anything I can do to help?” The young man who stood beside him looked worried, small wonder Celebrimbor thought, he probably looked like he was dying. 

“Migraine”, was all he managed to force out before a new wave of pain made speech all but impossible. 

“Oh! You need dark and quiet… I know just the place. Follow me!” Celebrimbor tried to keep up with the swift-footed human but found it difficult. The young man slowed down when he realised Celebrimbor was dropping behind and gently took his hand. 

“Close your eyes if it’s easier for you, I’ll lead you.”

It was strange, Celebrimbor thought, how easy it was to trust this stranger and just close his eyes and allow himself to be led by the hand to wherever they were going. The loud noises around him grew even louder, then faded slowly into the distance as he followed the helpful man.

“There are stairs here”, the man warned quietly. “Just a few steps, then we’ll be indoors and the AC will make life a little more bearable for you.”

Celebrimbor had no idea what he meant by AC, but once they passed through the door to the building he felt cool air against his face. He sighed with relief, but the headache still pounded in his temples and his eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his skull, so he kept them shut still. 

The sound of their shoes on the floor changed from echoing steps on stone to barely audible, it felt like the floor was covered in something soft and sound-absorbing. They passed through another door, and then his guide stopped and said:

“I think you can open your eyes now, it’s fairly dark in here, and if I draw the drapes it’ll be even darker. There’s a daybed in the corner, you can lie down if you need to. I’ll leave you alone, but do you need anything – do you have medicine? Should I get you painkillers?” 

Celebrimbor cautiously opened his eyes and noticed the young man was telling the truth. The room they were in was fairly large, with a high ceiling, and it was dark enough that even he, with his Elven sight, had trouble making out the daybed. He carefully made his way over to it and sat down with a sigh of relief.

“I do not have any medicine. There is not much I can do about the migraine, I can just try to rest until it passes.”

“Get some rest then. I’ll be in the room to the right of this one if you need to find me.”

“You do not know me at all, yet you are so kind to me. Thank you. May I know my saviour’s name?”

“My name is Joel. And yours?”

“Call me Khel, my first name would be rather hard for you to pronounce.” And too easily recognisable if there were still people about who remembered the old stories. 

Joel left the room and Celebrimbor tried to make himself comfortable on the daybed. It was a bit too short for his tall frame, but he managed to find a position that allowed him to relax somewhat. He wasn’t going to sleep of course, but he could rest his weary spirit for a while. He wasn’t sure why the Doomsman had insisted on leaving him in Stockholm of all places. He’d just been given some information on the city and the country, and Námo had also given him a stack of paper bills that passed for money here and a small flat rectangular object made of something called “plastic”, which the Doomsman told him could be used to pay for things if he ran out of the strange paper money. He got a tiny book with writing on the cover and a picture of him inside along with more writing and was informed it was a document he would need for travelling. Celebrimbor had noticed during the ferry ride that he was able to decipher what passed for writing here, strange angular symbols that reminded him more of Dwarven runes than Elven tengwar. The language of most of the writing was one he only understood a few words of, but there was also writing in what he perceived as Common, but Joel had identified as English. 

He hated feeling so fragile. Reembodiment was supposed to cure ailments from the previous life, but in his case it hadn’t quite worked. Oh, his body was healed, mostly, from the torment he’d withstood. The Doomsman told him the pains he experienced came from his _fëa_ , his spirit, not his _hroa_ , his physical body. He wasn’t sure it mattered where the pain came from, it was real enough and it incapacitated him from time to time. 

He drifted off for a little while and astonishingly, the pain in his head subsided somewhat. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, when he decided he needed to get up. He had to find a place to spend the night and he couldn’t really impose on Joel more than he already had. He got to his feet and made his way to the door. The corridor outside was empty and quiet, but he thought he heard something from the adjacent room. Joel had said he’d be in the room to the right, so Celebrimbor decided to look in on him and thank him for his kindness before leaving to find accommodation.

As he approached the door that was left ajar, he realised what he’d been hearing was music. He peeked into the room and found Joel seated on a straight-backed chair strumming some type of lap harp. The cascading notes made him think of water rippling over stones in a riverbed. The music made his throat tighten with emotion, as it reminded him of his childhood and his uncle playing and singing for him, sometimes with Fingon joining him. A broken sound, like a sob, made Joel look up and stop playing.

“Khel! Are you feeling better now?” Then he seemed to notice Celebrimbor’s distress and hurried to put the harp away, stepping closer and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Is something the matter?”

Celebrimbor took a few deep breaths, fighting to regain control over his emotions. 

“I am… the music just brought back some memories. Good memories, but of people long gone.”

The young man’s eyes widened in understanding. Celebrimbor thought absently they were his best feature, large and expressive and a lovely chocolate brown. Otherwise he was fairly ordinary-looking, with dark, curly hair to his shoulders, brown skin that bore scars of a youthful skin problem, and a scruffy beard. 

“I’m sorry for your loss. Um, how’s your head? I mean…” He broke off and blushed, a surprisingly charming thing that made him look almost child-like, despite obviously being a grown man.

Celebrimbor’s lips twitched in a tiny smile. 

“My head is what it is, but the migraine seems to have been postponed for the time being. I just wanted to thank you for your kindness to a total stranger. I am going to go look for accommodation, do you perhaps have any place to recommend?”

Joel pursed his lips. He unobtrusively eyed Celebrimbor, clearly trying to come up with a polite way to answer.

“It depends on what kind of place you’re looking for? I’m, uh, aware that your clothes probably cost more than my monthly rent, but I’m not really familiar with the five-star hotels in Stockholm. I know more about hostels and cheap accommodation, the kind my family would stay at when they come to visit.”

“I am not choosy. I merely need a place to stay for a few days, preferably one that serves at least breakfast, until I figure out what I am going to do next.” 

“There is a really fancy hotel just next door, but if you’re not terribly picky I think we can find you a nice one at half the cost of that one.”

“We?” Celebrimbor’s raised an eyebrow in true Elrond fashion. 

“Oh, uh…” Poor Joel blushed hotly. “I didn’t mean… I just thought you could use help finding a place. I wasn’t trying to…” 

“Oh. Oh no, I am sorry for being rude Joel! I would appreciate the help, really. But you have already done so much for me, I feel as if I am taking advantage of you and your kind heart.” 

“It’s not taking advantage if I want to do it. I would like to help you Khel, and it’s not like I’m terribly busy anyway.”

In the end, they decided to look at some hotels before actually booking a room for Celebrimbor. He was taken aback when, instead of going out to visit the places, Joel dug out a metal and glass contraption from his pocket and started tapping on the glassy surface of it, strange pictures and symbols lighting up as he went. Celebrimbor hung over his shoulder, staring in fascination. 

“Here, this looks like a good place, and it’s only a few blocks from here. They have good reviews and it says the breakfast is to die for! Should I make a reservation for you, or do you just want to go there? They seem to have vacancies, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Going there sounds good. I could use some fresh air after the migraine.” 

“Fresh air… is probably not something you’ll find a lot of right now, as it’s the afternoon rush hour, lots of cars and exhausts. Let’s get going then.”

As they walked through the foyer of the building, steps echoing on the stone floors, a woman hailed Joel in a bright, cheerful voice. She came hurrying towards them, high heels clicking, her eyes trained on Celebrimbor even as she spoke to Joel. He interrupted her quickly:

“This is Khel, he doesn’t speak Swedish, so English, please!”

“Oh, how rude of me, I’m so sorry! Where are you from Khel?” She fairly quivered with curiosity, studying the Elf so intently he felt as if she was undressing him mentally. Were people here all so brazen, or was there something wrong with how he looked? Celebrimbor avoided her eyes and blushed. 

“Look Tina, we were just leaving, we need to go get Khel some medicine and find him a hotel, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, ok?” Joel, bless his heart, put a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder and steered him towards the door, away from the woman who was looking at him like she wanted to devour him. 

They made it out into the street, where it was still sunny and hot. Joel hurried Celebrimbor towards the street corner, where he stopped, glancing at the iron poles with a figure of a man lit up in red. There was an annoying beeping sound, and the metallic vehicles (cars, that’s what they were called Celebrimbor remembered from Námo’s briefing) sped past in large numbers. 

“Khel, I’m sorry she made you uncomfortable. She’s a man-eater, that one.”

Celebrimbor turned to face him with a shocked expression, and Joel chuckled.

“Not literally! She’s not a cannibal! She’s just very fond of men… and can be very persistent when she sees one she finds attractive. And believe me, you are. You’re extremely attractive, you must know that?”

Celebrimbor shrugged, ill at ease. He had never thought of himself as particularly attractive, and he told Joel as much. The young man stared at him like he was out of his mind.

“I suppose I just – I grew up in a family of beautiful people and I was never noticed for the way I looked.”

“Your family must be a squad of supermodels. Don’t you ever look in the mirror?” 

“Not really. I have always been more preoccupied with my work. As long as my hair does not get into my eyes when I work, it is sufficient. It has ever been the same with clothing, if it is sturdy and protects one from the elements, it is good enough.” 

Joel laughed and shook his head, then indicated to Celebrimbor that they should cross the street. He noticed the red figure was no longer glowing, instead there was a green one depicting a walking man, and the beeping sound sounded different now. How curious. 

Getting a room at the hotel turned out to be very simple. Joel helped by explaining to the young woman manning the desk, and all that was required was for Celebrimbor to pay using the plastic rectangle, which he learned was called a credit card, and hand his travel document to the woman so she could note his personal information. The only snag he hit was when he was required to punch in a four-digit code for the card. He had no idea what the code would be but looked in the leather purse where he kept the card, and there was a piece of paper there with a code, so he tried that and it worked. Joel tutted and told him he should never keep the code with the card. Celebrimbor shrugged. Now that he had used the code once, it was firmly lodged in his brain and he wouldn’t need the note anymore. 

The hotel room was spacious and really quite nice, with a bed that Celebrimbor noticed was large enough that he could probably lie across it comfortably. Joel opened a door and there turned out to be a rather large bathroom with a tub and a number of small bottles on the vanity. 

“Well, it looks like you’re all set now”, Joel said. “I’ll just leave you to it then. I hope you enjoy your stay in Stockholm.” 

Celebrimbor frowned. He was thankful to the young man who had been so helpful and friendly, and also was the only person he knew in this town. 

“I am sure I will. Do you need to go? I thought I could treat you to dinner, as a thank you for taking such good care of a complete stranger. Oh… maybe you already have plans for the evening? I am sorry, I do not want to impose.”

“No, no, I don’t have anything planned for tonight. I just thought… that maybe you wanted to be left alone. I’d love to have dinner with you Khel.”

Celebrimbor got a feeling there was something he was missing, some social clue, but he ignored it and smiled at Joel. He was a little taken aback at the young man’s reaction – he blushed a deep red and looked like he was about to cry. 

“Well, shall we go then? You can pick a place, I am sure you know places with good food?”

They left the hotel room, Joel reminding Celebrimbor that he needed to take the plastic card that unlocked the door. They strolled along streets that were growing less busy as the hour grew later, and Joel explained that many people had finished their workday by now and gone home. Celebrimbor took note of the fact that the sun was still fairly high in the sky and thought to ask Joel whether people here worked very short days, but then he remembered this was a Northern city, so maybe the sun would be over the horizon for weeks. He wasn’t sure if Stockholm was _that_ far north but didn’t want to ask Joel outright. 

They chatted a little on their way to the restaurant Joel had chosen. It turned out he was a professional musician in the beginning stages of his career, which was why he had access to the room he’d taken Celebrimbor to. Joel explained that the building belonged to the Royal Swedish Academy of Music and the practise rooms were not open to the public. 

Celebrimbor was a little vague about what he did for a living, but he confessed to being a jeweller and silversmith among other things. He didn’t go into much detail about his family either, apart from saying it was a family of artisans, musicians and scientists. 

The restaurant was a small, rather intimate one, and the food turned out to be lots of small dishes with delicacies that had Celebrimbor enraptured. They talked some more, but mostly about the food, the wine (Celebrimbor had insisted on getting a bottle of white wine) and whether to try some of the desserts. Once they’d ordered a whole tray full of different kinds of sweets, silence fell. At least until someone said Joel’s name, and they were suddenly surrounded by a group of people, two women and three men. Before they knew it, they were all seated at a larger table and Celebrimbor was being introduced to Joel’s old friends from the music academy. 

The women introduced themselves as Raija and Malena, the men were called Marcus, Jamal and Tobias. They were all very young in Celebrimbor’s eyes, but then, so was Joel. 

And they were curious! They wanted to know everything about him – where he was from, why he was in Sweden, how he liked Stockholm, when and how he met Joel, had he heard him playing the harp, how long was he staying? He noticed to his relief that while all of them eyed him surreptitiously and with some interest, none of them were as blatant about it as the woman they’d run into at the Royal Academy. One of the men had something of a predatory glint in his eyes but seemed too polite to express his interest openly. The girls were clearly intrigued but he got the feeling they were holding back as well. Celebrimbor was relieved to say the least. 

Until he realised why they were holding back. In the middle of a discussion about a concert that was to take place the following week, the blonde girl, Raija, suddenly looked at Joel meaningfully and chirped:  
“But maybe you aren’t coming Joel? If you’re otherwise occupied, I mean.” She winked at Joel and then smiled at Celebrimbor. 

Joel blushed, refusing to look at Celebrimbor. He shook his head and stuttered something about having gotten tickets for the event a long time ago and of course he was attending. Celebrimbor frowned. Joel seemed ill at ease, and the girl was clearly baiting him in hope of something. What was she getting at? Why would Joel be _otherwise occupied_?

The epiphany almost made _him_ blush too. They thought Joel was romantically (or at least sexually) involved with him! He was about to vehemently deny any romantic interest, when he noticed Joel’s downcast eyes. 

“I only just met Joel, I could not monopolise him like that and force him to change his plans just because of my selfish wishes to keep his company.” His reply was made in a soft, friendly tone of voice with just a little hint of infatuation. It wasn’t _exactly_ a lie, and he could see the gratitude in Joel’s expression. The girls cooed at him for that answer, and Malena rather pointedly asked one of the men, Celebrimbor thought it was Marcus, if he was taking notes. 

Finally, after what felt like forever, Joel’s friends left to go to _clubbing_ , whatever that was. Celebrimbor realised that even though Common, or English as the people here called it, was known to him, there were words he knew but their meaning in context just eluded him. Clubbing was one such word. _Benefits_ was another, as Tobias had confided in a whisper that Malena and Marcus were friends with benefits. 

Once the others had left, an uncomfortable silence reigned for a while. Then Joel seemed to reach a decision:

“Thank you for letting them believe that we… I mean, that you and I are involved. It makes things so much easier if they think that’s the case.”

“I must confess I do not understand why, but I saw the look on your face and it felt like the right thing to say. Why would you want your friends to believe you and I are courting?” 

The explanation for this was simple, and Celebrimbor thought that not much had changed from the time he was a youth. You had the popular crowd, and you had the ones that followed the popular crowd, and then you had the outcasts. He got the feeling Joel was an outcast, or at least on the outskirts of the followers. It turned out he was right. Joel had been one of the odd ones, and the people they’d run into this evening were part popular, part followers. He told Celebrimbor they wouldn’t have looked at him twice if he’d been out to dinner alone, but with a companion, and one as attractive as Celebrimbor at that, the situation was different. 

Joel was such a kind, decent person. It didn’t feel right that he’d be lonely, looked down upon by his so-called friends. His musical talent alone should be enough to make people flock around him, but Joel explained he felt very uncomfortable performing in front of large audiences. Celebrimbor inspected him furtively. It’s true he was rather unremarkable, medium height and skinny, dark hair, thin beard… he also didn’t possess the kind of charisma that would make people notice him in a crowd. Celebrimbor thought of his uncle Maglor, who could have stood in front of an audience with a cloth sack covering his head and body and still would have mesmerised everyone with just his voice. 

Celebrimbor paid for their meal, once again using the plastic card, and they left the restaurant. At the entrance to the hotel they said goodnight, and Joel turned to walk away, when he turned around and asked Celebrimbor for his phone number. The elf remembered the concept from Námo’s crash course, but had to inform Joel that regretfully, he didn’t have a mobile phone. When he saw the young musician’s woebegone expression, he quickly asked him if he would mind helping him get one the next day, as he had need of one. Seeing Joel’s face light up was worth the trouble of the little lie. They agreed Joel would come by the hotel the next morning and accompany him to some shops that sold all sorts of electronic devices. 

As Celebrimbor crawled underneath the duvet, he wondered what had possessed the Doomsman to take him to Stockholm. Was there something about the city that was particularly healing, or was it just Námo’s idea of a joke?


	2. Skyscrapers and stargazers in my head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor runs into someone who knows someone he used to know in his previous life.

Buying a mobile phone turned out to be fairly easy, and once Celebrimbor had gotten used to having his own, private miniature palantír in his pocket, he was astonished at all the practical uses the little contraption had. He stayed in Stockholm another few days and in that time he managed to make Joel something of a local celebrity by accompanying him to concerts and other events. Joel remarked, a little cynically, that he had never been this popular on his own, but add a really handsome foreigner and all of a sudden he was hot stuff. Celebrimbor secretly thought that perhaps Joel was better off without his company, because then he could be sure those who sought him out did it for his own sake.

Be that as it may, Celebrimbor decided to leave Stockholm and explore other parts of Sweden. He said an emotional goodbye to the young musician and got on the train that would take him to a city in the west called Gothenburg. The train was fast, but the journey still took several hours, so he was grateful it was comfortable as the seats had plenty of legroom. He had a window seat, so he was able to watch the country as it changed the further west they got. He got a lot of attention, but he had gotten used to it in Stockholm. It seemed that even in a country with tall people known for their good looks, he still stood out. A couple of teenaged girls in the same compartment stared at him when they thought he couldn’t see, giggled and whispered excitedly, not knowing about his Elven hearing. He had learned a lot of Swedish in the past days, he could still only speak a little but understood most of the words of a conversation. He wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to understand what the girls were discussing though. 

Joel had helped him book a hotel close to the railway station in Gothenburg, and once he was installed there, he took a walk to acquaint himself with the city. The broad avenue that seemed to be the most important street had lots of restaurants and bars, and he ducked into one of them for a late lunch and a glass of wine. He strolled around the city for a couple of more hours, then headed back towards his hotel. On the way there he spotted an antiquarian bookstore and decided on a whim to see if they had any interesting books. 

The place was rather dark and had a dusty, but not unpleasant smell. Celebrimbor browsed the shelves for a while, when suddenly his eyes fell on a title: Silmarillion. It felt like he’d been dunked in an icy pond. Was this a history book, or was it something else? He riffled through the pages, then decided, when he saw the words “Valar” and “Silmarils”, that he was going to buy the book. He took it to the counter, and the salesclerk rang it up for him. 

“Är du intresserad av Tolkien?” 

He looked apologetically at the clerk. “I am sorry, my Swedish is not particularly good.”

“Oh! I was just asking if you’re interested in Tolkien’s works? We have more of his books, if this is your first, then it might not be the best to start with. We have both _The Hobbit_ and _The Lord of the Rings_.” 

“I will take those as well. I am building up a collection, I lost all my books in a fire.” It was basically the truth, he’d lost his books and everything else, including his life, in the fires of war. 

He finally left the bookstore with a bag full of Tolkien books, both paperbacks and hardcovers. When he got back to his hotel room, he emptied the bag on the bed and started perusing the books. He finally settled in an armchair with the Silmarillion, since that was the one that caught his attention first. He looked at the index and read the names of the chapters, and there it was: “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age”. He swallowed hard and started reading.

It didn’t take him long to read, as it consisted of around 20 pages, but it was anything but easy. The language was a little archaic, but still rather matter of fact. The description of the fall of Eregion was almost dry, and after he’d read it through he fled into the bathroom, barely making it in time before he vomited. After his stomach had calmed down, he took a shower and crawled into bed. Sleep was a long time coming. 

In the morning he decided to go shopping for some more clothes. He was lucky he wasn’t as tall as Maedhros, as that would have made it difficult to find clothes that fit him, but he was still taller than most people, and although he was slim, he had the shoulders and chest of a smith. He found a small, rather exclusive store that catered to tall men, and had the young man working there almost in rapture. He left with two large bags of clothes and realised he would have to buy a suitcase for all his new clothes. 

He found a place where they sold all kinds of bags and bought a large one on wheels. As he was leaving the shop, he bumped into a person who was on the way in. He started to apologise in English, and the man he’d run into answered in the same language, then looked up at him and did a double take. 

“I’m sorry, do I know you? You look very familiar.”

“I do not think...” Celebrimbor began, but the man interrupted him:

“No, I’m sorry, my mistake. You just reminded me of someone I knew once. A musician.”

Celebrimbor felt a tiny frisson of apprehension, or maybe fear. He knew he looked rather striking, and the odds that he would run into someone who’d met someone who looked like him were slim. Unless the man had actually met an elf. A musician? 

“It could have been my uncle”, he offered hesitantly. “I have been told we look alike, and he was a well-known musician in his time.” 

The man looked at him skeptically. “A rather young uncle in that case. This was perhaps five years ago, and he looked as young as you.” 

“Well, it is a family trait”, Celebrimbor smiled, although he had never felt less like smiling. His heart was beating furiously and he could feel the first stabs of a headache. “We all look young, a lot younger than we are… and then at a certain age, we just fall apart.” Well, in a manner of speaking. 

The man grinned broadly, eyes crinkling at the corners, giving him a very friendly look. 

“Next you’ll tell me you just look like you’re twenty-five, and you’re actually sixty!”

“I can assure you I am not sixty.” Again, not a lie at all. He just didn’t mention how many thousands of years he had seen while alive. 

The man laughed at that and extended a hand for Celebrimbor to shake. “My name’s Stephane, I’m a painter and a sculptor and I’m not going to mention my last name because you’ve never heard of me anyway, and that’s always so depressing.” 

“Call me Khel, no last name to recognise here either, it is a pleasure to meet you Stephane. Do you live in this city?”

“I do right now, although I was born in France. I tend to rove about quite a bit, but this is my home for now.” Then he looked around at all the people passing by on the sidewalk, and grimaced. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee or lunch or something? I’d love to continue our conversation, but we’re a little in the way here and it’s not very restful is it?”

Celebrimbor hesitated briefly, then nodded. “Lunch sounds good, although I must insist on buying. After all, I was the one who nearly trampled you in my hurry. But you were going inside were you not? Am I keeping you from some important errand?”

“Not at all. I was simply going to look for a new suitcase, but the one I have will keep for a while longer. There’s plenty of time before my next trip abroad.”

They walked to a restaurant Stephane recommended and were seated with menus before they knew it. Talking to Stephane was easy, although Celebrimbor had to modify the truth a little, mostly by omitting certain details. In Stockholm he’d been accepted as a wealthy foreigner who didn’t have to work for a living and was fond of the arts in all forms and shapes. He’d gone to concerts, art exhibitions, poetry readings and ballet with Joel, so he had lots of topics for conversation. 

After lunch, they agreed to meet up the next day to go to an art gallery where Stephane had works exhibited. They exchanged phone numbers, and Celebrimbor took his rolling suitcase and went back to the hotel to unpack the clothes he’d tucked into it and settle in. He spent the rest of the day sightseeing, visiting the fish market and taking a boat trip that introduced him to a lot of bridges and lovely islands. Returning to the city, he had a quiet dinner at the hotel restaurant and then went to bed with a book. Not the Silmarillion this time, he decided to give _The Hobbit_ a chance, and noted if was funny and slightly childish and a very long way from the terse descriptions of the destruction of Eregion. 

He awoke the next morning feeling more refreshed than he had been in ages, or Ages, as it were. He knew he slept more than normal for an Elf, but Námo had told him it wasn’t unheard of after reembodiment, and even more so when his soul wasn’t really healed yet. He was meeting Stephane at ten, so he had time for a shower and a leisurely breakfast in the hotel breakfast room. He was ready well before ten, so he went for a short walk just to stretch his legs. Stephane picked him up outside the hotel and they took a tram to the gallery. 

Celebrimbor was fascinated by the first sculptures that were positioned just inside the door of the gallery. They were made mostly of copper wire and thin pipes and decorated with accents consisting of thin cut slabs of a reddish stone that Stephane said was red granite. The sculptures weren’t his works, but he agreed they were beautiful and very evocative. They walked slowly through the rooms of the gallery, discussed the more interesting items and Stephane explained some of the techniques used. Then they came to the portrait rooms.

Celebrimbor noticed that Stephane seemed a bit tense when they got to this section, but he attributed it to him being nervous about showing his art. He admired a lovely portrait of a young child that turned out to be Stephane’s niece, smiled at a painting of a dreamy-eyed teenager, and then… 

Celebrimbor felt like all the air left his lungs at once. He gasped, his limbs going all cold and his eyes filling with tears without his volition. He stood stock still, staring at a portrait of his uncle Maglor. How it was possible, he had no idea, but it was clearly him, and the artist was Stephane. He could read the signature, and the date was April 2013. He turned to Stephane with an accusing look.

“Is this some kind of sick joke? Why did you bring me here?”

Stephane’s look was stricken. 

“I didn’t mean any harm! It was just… you look so much like him, and I thought…”

“You thought you would see how I reacted?” Celebrimbor couldn’t remember the last time he was this angry. Or he could, but he preferred not to think about that particular betrayal now. 

“I wanted to see if the likeness was just in my eyes. I wanted to see if it was your uncle. By your reaction, I’d guess it is? I’m sorry Khel, I really didn’t mean to hurt you. I wouldn’t do a thing like that, I swear!”

Celebrimbor’s anger was extinguished as quickly as it had flared up. 

“No, _I_ am sorry Stephane. I was being paranoid and I was very much out of line. And yes, it is my uncle. It has been a long time since I saw him ( _now that is an understatement if anything_ , he thought) and it was a shock. He looks exactly as I remember him. Maybe a little older, a little sadder.” 

“Sad. Now that’s one word for him… he’s lovely, and he’s funny at times, he does crazy things, he makes beautiful music and his sorrow is such that I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man so filled with longing and regret. I know for a fact he misses his family. Why have you lost touch?”

Celebrimbor sighed. He wasn’t sure this was the best place to go into any detail, but he owed it to Stephane to try to explain part of it.

“I fell out with my father and his brothers. They did things I could not accept, and I repudiated them and left. I have had no contact with any of them for a long time.”

There was a long silence while Stephane considered his answer. Then he nodded quietly.

“How about I buy you lunch and I can tell you more about how I met your uncle, if you want?” 

They found a tiny café that served vegetarian dishes, placed their orders and sat down at a table in a secluded corner. 

“So”, Stephane began, “I first met Laurent maybe six years ago or so. I knew at once I wanted to paint him, but he wasn’t very keen on it at first. It took me a year of nagging and pleading before he consented to be my model. The portrait at the gallery isn’t the only one I made of him. I have many pencil sketches and a few ink drawings as well. He’s very beautiful, and I think I managed to capture his charisma on both canvas and paper.”

“Laurent?” Celebrimbor wanted to kick himself for sounding so surprised.

“Oh, I know that’s not his real name, he said that would be difficult for me to pronounce, but Laurent was easy and I guess it resembled his real name somehow. I’m guessing you have a difficult name as well, because when we met you told me to call you Khel, you never said it was your name.”

“Yes, that is true. The name I was given at birth is quite – ostentatious. Khel is what some friends of mine used to call me, I like it as it reminds me of them and it is short and to the point.”

“What are you, some kind of royalty with a lot of names and titles?” Stephane grinned at him, and again Celebrimbor was struck by how friendly he looked when his eyes crinkled like that. He was neither young nor old, hard as it was for the Elf to determine ages in humans, this man looked older than Joel, and seemed more mature as well. He had hazel eyes and his hair was a dark blonde, stylishly cut and curly. 

“What, you went so quiet all of a sudden – do you mean you _are_ royalty?” Stephane squeaked out, eyes round in surprise. 

“Oh! No, no, not like that, of course not! My family is nobility though, and I guess there is a king or two in the family tree somewhere, but it is not like I am heir to a throne or anything.” Celebrimbor thought cynically he was getting quite good at half-truths and omitted details, such as both his great-grandfather and his grandfather being kings, not to mention his uncles and great-uncles. At least he was telling the truth about not being an heir to a throne, as there was no country left to be king of. 

Stephane raised an eyebrow. “Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much! I always thought Laurent had a very noble bearing, and he certainly took all accolades very calmly, like they were his due. Maybe not royalty then, but he was certainly used to mingling at parties, being both charming, diplomatic and condescending at the same time.” 

Celebrimbor laughed at that. “Ah yes, I am sure he was good at that, although his older brother was the great diplomat of them.” Strange how it still pained him to think about his family, but it wasn’t quite as painful as it used to be. 

“That would have been Russ, right? The redhead?” 

Celebrimbor didn’t trust himself to answer, so he just nodded tersely. Had Maglor told this man his entire life story? Had he really trusted a mortal that much? 

“I know what you’re thinking”, Stephane said softly. “Did Laurent tell me all about his life? No, he didn’t. He told me very little, just tidbits like that thing about his brother, and sometimes he’d talk about the twins… although I’m not sure I understood all of that. Sometimes he talked about redheaded twins and sometimes they had dark hair.”

“The redheaded twins were his youngest brothers. The dark-haired ones were orphans that he raised with – Russ. They were distant family and there was no one else to take care of them.”

Stephane sighed. “He was always sort of… wistful, you might say, even when he was in the middle of a crowd, playing music or listening to it. Like he was yearning for something and he knew he was never going to achieve it.” 

“That sounds like him. A lot of things happened to him, bad things, but he did some horrible things himself too. He was always the dramatic one. The things that happened – he was not the only one, many others were involved too, but he was the one who insisted on carrying all the guilt on his shoulders.”

“In other words he’s something of a drama queen, that sounds about right.”

Celebrimbor did a double take: 

“Are you saying – is he still around?”

“Yes, of course he is. I talked to him a week ago or so. He’d just come home from a year backpacking in Australia and New Zealand.”

“Backpacking?” Celebrimbor’s eyebrows rose to Elrond levels. 

Stephane burst out laughing.

“Oh, the horror, right! He seemed to have enjoyed it though, said he’d slept in worse places than cheap hostels with peeling wallpaper and shared bathrooms with concrete floors. And he always wanted to see the movie sites in New Zealand.”

Celebrimbor’s expression must have revealed his total ignorance, as Stephane started laughing again. 

“What planet are you from? Haven’t you ever heard of The Lord of the Rings? Tolkien? The movies were made in New Zealand. I think The Hobbit movies were filmed there as well.”

“There are movies? I am reading the Hobbit book right now, it is nice enough I suppose but perhaps a tad too childish for my taste.”

“Well, it _is_ more of a children’s book, The Lord of the Rings is more grown up and the Silmarillion even more so.”

“I got those books as well, but I started with the one that seemed the least traumatising”, Celebrimbor explained. He was trying to figure out how he could obtain the movies so he could watch them all, see if there was anything in them that sparked – something. Perhaps there was a reason Námo sent him here after all. 

“You’re probably right. I haven’t read the Silmarillion myself, but I gather it has lots of blood and gore, monsters and slaughter and dark lords and whatnot.”

Celebrimbor didn’t comment, he just shrugged noncommittally and changed the topic to upcoming concerts in the area. As they were discussing a possible visit to the opera, Stephane suddenly leaned across the table.

“Would you like Laurent’s number? I understand you haven’t had anything to do with your family in a while, but if I gave you the number, you could call or text him if you felt like it, or you could just ignore it. I have a feeling he wouldn’t mind hearing from you. Even if I don’t think he ever mentioned you more than once… but family is still family.”

“I do not know, Stephane. Let me think about it. I am not the same person as I was back then, and I wager neither is he, from what you told me. Perhaps… perhaps we could forgive each other, I am not sure. He is a very proud man, or he was.”

“And you?”

“I think I have no pride left. If my father was here, I would beg for his forgiveness. I would do anything to see his face again.”

“Maybe your uncle is in touch with your father, so you could be reunited?”

“My father is dead, has been for a long time. I never got the chance to tell him I was sorry I left. He was in the wrong, but if I had stayed, he might have lived.”

Stephane winced. To Celebrimbor’s relief he didn’t say anything, just nodded quietly and leaned across the table once again to put a sympathetic hand on the Elf’s shoulder. 

They ate their food in silence after that. When they were getting ready to leave the café, Celebrimbor couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“I would love to have Ma… Laurent’s phone number! I am not saying I will call him, mind you, but I might. Maybe it has been long enough.”

“I agree. And I’ll give it to you, but I’d like to know… just now you started to say another name before changing it to Laurent. What’s his real name? I’m not going to try to pronounce it and butcher it, I promise!”

“It is Makalaurë. _Laurë_ means gold in our mother tongue.”

Stephane’s eyes widened a little at that, but he nodded and pulled up the contact information on his phone. Celebrimbor entered it into his phone, filing it under M with no further notes. Thanking Stephane, he looked up from the phone to meet his new friend’s inquisitive gaze.

“Can I just ask… well, seeing as Makalaurë really wasn’t that hard to pronounce after all… what’s your real name? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I’m just curious I guess.”

Celebrimbor hesitated only a moment.

“It is Telperinquar. My uncles called me Tyelpë or brat sometimes.”


	3. Worry Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are revelations, confessions and a phone call with consequences.

Celebrimbor spent the next couple of days doing everything possible to keep from calling or texting his uncle. He saw every sight there was to see in Gothenburg and its surroundings, going so far as to visit the Liseberg amusement park, although he avoided the most terrifying rides. He had almost decided he was just going to send Maglor a short text message letting him know he was around, when his phone rang one morning just after breakfast. It was Stephane, and he sounded strange somehow, almost breathless. They agreed to meet for lunch in a park, to catch up a little. 

Celebrimbor got them both some takeaway food while Stephane took care of getting them something to drink. They found a bench in a secluded spot and sat down to enjoy their lunch while chatting, mostly about what Celebrimbor had seen of Gothenburg since they last met. He had just bitten into the donut he’d gotten for dessert, when Stephane drew in a deep breath and blurted out:

“I’ve been reading the last couple of days. The Lord of the Rings, to refresh my memory, because it was a long time since I first read it. And… the Silmarillion.” 

Celebrimbor felt like he’d been dunked in cold water. He stared mutely at the other man, trying to tell himself he’d misheard.

“You said your name is Telperinquar, but you have also been known as Celebrimbor, haven’t you? And your uncle… Laurent… Makalaurë, or Maglor, son of Fëanor.” Stephane’s face was white, even his lips were pale, and his eyes were huge and dark. His voice trembled slightly, but he spoke the words with certainty. 

“You – how did – “, Celebrimbor had difficulty forming words at all. “Yes.” He couldn’t, wouldn’t lie, not when a direct question was asked. Lies and deception were the domain of another, and he was not going to think of him now.

“You died.” 

“I did. I was dead for many Ages. Námo wearied of me at last, perhaps, or gave up on my ever being healed. Or maybe he did not, I am not sure. Everyone else was healed and released soon after, but I could not forget and my soul could not heal.”

“But how did you end up here? And how did your uncle… did he die as well, or was it like it said in the Silmarillion, that he wandered the seashores singing songs of grief and longing?”

“I do not know to be honest. He had not been seen or heard from in a long time when I died. I do not think he ever entered Mandos. Maybe he really kept wandering through the Ages. It is a miracle he did not go mad if so.”

“I’m not so sure he isn’t at least a little mad. He can be erratic, and he sometimes has really black moods, when it’s just best to leave him be. Most of the time, though, he’s charismatic, funny and charming. He could literally have anyone, man, woman or other, if he wanted.” Was that a wistful tone in Stephane’s voice? 

“He was always different, not quite like his brothers. It could have been the power he had in his voice, or something else. He was close to Caranthir, which is strange, because they were not much alike in temperament, but they both had more than a touch of Sight and that could bring people together. I saw it with Galadriel and Elrond too.”

“Have you called him?”

“No”, Celebrimbor confessed. He wanted to justify his hesitation but couldn’t find a good reason why he hadn’t contacted Maglor. 

“You really should. He never mentioned your name to me, but he did talk about having just one nephew, who was a bright and beautiful child and the joy of his family.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes filled with tears and he made a choked sound. He hid his face in his hands and wept and after a while, Stephane moved closer to him and put an arm around his shoulders, holding him gently without speaking. Celebrimbor cried for a long time, but even long-denied tears run dry sometime. He glanced up at Stephane and gave him a shaky smile. 

“Thank you. I believe I needed that… perhaps this was why Námo sent me here, perhaps there is healing to be had for me after all.”

“I believe there is. Why would a Vala bother sending you here, to Sweden of all places, if he didn’t have a plan for you?” 

Celebrimbor shrugged. He had pondered that question himself, but it gave him even more of a headache than the migraine that was always lurking around the corner, so he tried to put it out of his mind. Come to think of it… he had had several migraine-free days now. The last one had been in Stockholm, since then all he had felt was a slight dizziness at times and a few threatening stabs at the temples, but no migraine, not even a normal headache. 

Stephane had to leave after lunch to go meet a client who had commissioned a portrait of his daughter, so Celebrimbor made his way back to the hotel. He took out his phone and opened his contact list at M. He could do this, he thought. It was Maglor. It wasn’t Celegorm, who’d probably hate him for what he did. It wasn’t Caranthir, who’d yell at him just because he was like that. It definitely wasn’t his father, calculating, cold and haughty (although he had cried when Celebrimbor renounced him). It was his gentle uncle Maglor, who rarely raised his voice in anything but song. 

He pressed the green button and held the phone close to his ear, his hand shaking as he did so. 

“Hello? Who is this?” The voice hit him like a stab to the chest. It was so unmistakably Maglor, his beautiful, melodious voice that seeped through the cracks of Celebrimbor’s broken heart like melted gold through the cracks in old pottery. Even tight with apprehension and suspicion, it was such a lovely voice. The phone slipped from Celebrimbor’s suddenly numb fingers and thudded onto the bed throw. He keened, helpless to stop the sound, helpless to stop the tears that flowed searing hot down his cheeks, the sobs that tore from him in great gasps. 

“Un… uncle Makalaurë…” was all he could manage in between sobs. 

“Tyelpë?” Even with the phone resting on the bed he could hear the disbelief, the hope and the sheer _love_ in the name. “Tyelpë, is that you? Where are you? Are you hurt? Gods, what am I saying, of course you are! Where are you, I’m coming to get you! Tell me where you are Tyelpë, _please_!” Maglor’s voice rose in desperation on the last words. 

“Goth… Gothenburg.” Celebrimbor had managed to pick up the phone again and held it pressed to his ear. “Stephane gave me your number… he figured out who I was. Who you are. All of it.”

Maglor’s quiet gasp made the guilt rise in him again. He’d inadvertently spilled his uncle’s secrets at the same time as he revealed his own. 

“Where are you staying? I can be on a flight to Stockholm in three hours, and there’s a domestic flight from there to Gothenburg that I can just make. Tyelpë?” 

Celebrimbor didn’t answer. He was shaking in reaction to his realisation that his uncle had kept his identity hidden from Stephane for the six years he’d known the man, and now the secret was out thanks to him, and who knew what would happen. Stephane seemed like a decent man, a good man even, but there had been decent men before that had fallen. 

He pressed the “End call” button, then switched his phone off and crawled under the duvet, mentally exhausted and physically sick.


	4. Your faith walks on broken glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor anticipates, and dreads, his uncle Maglor's arrival in Gothenburg.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but he was jolted awake by an insistent knocking on the door of his hotel room. He peered blearily towards the door, and then remembered the reason he’d been asleep under a heap of blankets on his bed. 

“Khel! It’s me, Stephane. Open the door!”

He stumbled to the door and unlocked it, then made his way back to the bed and slumped on the edge of it, rubbing his aching head. Stephane closed the door behind him and crossed the room to sit in the armchair. He studied Celebrimbor quietly for a while.

“What happened? Laurent… Maglor called me and was worried about you. He was on his way to the airport, he’ll be here tomorrow morning if all goes according to plan. Why did you hang up on him? He was absolutely frantic!”

“I… I just realised he had kept his identity secret for all this time, and I exposed him just like that.”

“Do you really think he cares about that now that he has found you again? You’re family, you’re his brother’s only son, I really don’t think he’ll worry about my knowing his real name. And anyway, I’m not going to tell anyone about it.”

Celebrimbor regarded him steadily, then sighed. 

“I am sorry Stephane. You have given me no reason to distrust you and every reason to believe you are a truly good man. I am just… broken. And I want to meet my uncle again, but I fear the meeting. I have done unforgivable things.”

“Well, so has he if I’m to believe the Silmarillion! He’s no saint Khel, really, he’s not! He would be the first to tell you that I’m sure. I think if you look at it, he’s done far worse things than you. You trusted someone you thought was a friend. He killed all kinds of people, warriors, women, children, without hesitation. He was remorseful after, perhaps, but he still killed them.”

“There was the Oath – “, Celebrimbor began, but Stephane interrupted him.

“I know about the Oath, but surely there had to some way out of it? Another way than to kill everyone who stood between them and some pieces of glowing rock?” 

“I do not know Stephane – I honestly do not know! I repudiated them for what they did at last, but the Doom was on us all and everything we did turned to darkness and death in the end.”

“You died. You died for that reason, don’t you think your death sort of washed the slate clean? That you atoned for the evil deeds of your family, in a way? But you keep holding onto your guilt, refusing to heal even when the Valar try to tell you you’re forgiven?”

Celebrimbor stared at the man. He was furious with him, who did he think he was to be speaking of these things? The anger dissipated almost as quickly as it flared up. He knew Stephane meant no harm, and he might very well be right about the Valar’s intentions. But was Maglor really coming here now? He asked the other man, who nodded.

“As we speak, he’s on a flight from wherever he was, he’ll be landing in Stockholm tonight and taking the first domestic tomorrow morning. I promised to pick him up at the airport. Want to come along?”

Celebrimbor shook his head. If he was going to meet his uncle for the first time in many millennia, he preferred to have it happen behind closed doors. He was unsure whether he would be able to keep himself together, and he was certain Maglor would rather be in private too. He had always been rather dramatic, but surely it would be best to keep a low profile. The fewer people who knew about them the better. 

“I think it is better that I do not. Can you bring him here once you have talked to him? I am sure you two have things to discuss.”

“Not as important as you. I’ll bring him here straight from the airport, unless he wants to go somewhere else first, but I doubt that. He hasn’t seen you in… how long?”

“Oh… I left my father and his brothers in the First Age, and I had not seen Maglor in years by that time. It was maybe a hundred years later that he and Maedhros, the last remaining of the brothers, stole the two Silmarils from the Valar. Maedhros threw himself into a fiery chasm, and Maglor went wandering the shores of Arda. Each Age lasted thousands of years – and I do not know what Age it is now. Many must have gone by… so I cannot answer your question, only say that it has been many thousands of years.”

“Are you afraid?” Stephane regarded him steadily. 

“Yes. I would be a fool not to be. He may be my kin, but we have many things that need discussing and patching up. And remember, Maglor has a lot of power in his mind and his voice. He could literally kill just using a song. I am not saying he will, mind you. I am just reminding you that it is foolish in the extreme to underestimate him just because he is beautiful and knows how to conduct himself.” 

“Oh, I’m well aware of it. Look, I’ll leave you alone now. I’ll come by tomorrow morning with Maglor. Gods, that is one sentence I would never have guessed I would say.” Stephane was nervous, Celebrimbor realised, because he was rambling in a way that was totally unlike him. 

“I will see you then. Thank you, Stephane, for everything you have done for me. For us. The kindness of strangers is always unexpected and always welcome.”


	5. I'll be here in battle scars, waiting for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrimbor awaits the day when he gets to meet his uncle for the first time in many Ages and meets a mortal who sees rather more than he expected.

Celebrimbor spent the rest of the evening in his hotel room, trying to read, then trying to watch a movie. Nothing could take his mind off the coming reunion. At last he decided he might as well go for a walk and ended up going on a several hours-long ramble through the city centre. Still antsy and anxious, he stopped to listen to a busker playing the violin on a street corner. The girl was talented and gathered quite an audience with her amplified instrument. One of the pieces she played tugged at something inside Celebrimbor, a bare glimpse of a memory… When the musician stopped playing, indicating that she would take a short break, the smith hesitated just for a second.

“You play beautifully. What was that last piece called, the one that sounded more classical than contemporary?”

The young woman’s eyes widened a little as she took in Celebrimbor’s tall frame, long black hair and silvery eyes. She seemed to mull over her response for a moment before giving it.

“It’s an old tune, 18th century I think, by an Irish musician named O’Carolan. It’s called “Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór”… it’s about a war between Elves. It was originally written for the harp, but as it is well-loved among those of us who like Irish music, it has been adapted to violin, guitar, flute…”

Celebrimbor nodded, not trusting himself to speak at that moment. The music had evoked feelings within him that were threatening to overwhelm him, and he quietly tucked a couple of bills in the violin case that was laid out on the pavement. 

“Thank you”, the young musician said, and then continued in a low voice, “I always felt it was a very sad tune… about kin killing kin, you know? It must be a hard thing to live with.”

Celebrimbor’s head came up sharply, his eyes flashing with a mixture of horror, rage and fear. The violinist raised her hands protectively, backing away a couple of steps, eyes going wide with dismay.

“No, no, don’t worry! I won’t tell anyone… what would I tell people anyway, that they would believe? That I ran into an Elf on a street corner?” Her voice lowered even more. “I’m not sure what… kind of Elf you are… but you are one, or I’m a unicorn!”

“A unicorn? I am certain, my lady, that you bear neither horn nor hooves!” Celebrimbor decided to try to make the whole matter a joke.

“My point exactly. Just as much of a point as your ears have.” The young woman clearly wasn’t going to let the question slip.  
Celebrimbor’s hands flew up to check that his ears weren’t showing, and the violinist laughed and shook her head. He was relieved to note that his hair was still entirely covering his ears – and hadn’t the Doomsman mentioned that most mortals wouldn’t notice his ears even if they were uncovered? 

“Gotcha!”

The smith flushed lightly. She did indeed. 

“So what will you do with this knowledge? 

She knit her brows, apparently thinking the question over. 

“I don’t know that I’ll do anything with it. As I said, if I tried to tell people, who would even believe me? I’m not really keen on getting locked up in an institution, and anyway, if there are elves moving about the world, why would that be a problem?” 

Celebrimbor shook his head minutely. The more he saw of these modern day Secondborn, the more they amazed him. He’d dismiss the violinist’s easy acceptance of his – otherness – as unique, but Stephane knew what he was too, and seemed to have no problems with it. 

“My lady, I thank you for the gift of your music – and your silence.”

“Wait… there is one thing I forgot to tell you. That piece you asked about, “Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór”… there is a legend of sorts about it. It’s been said that it was given to O’Carolan by an Elven bard, a harpist, and he was the one who wrote it, not the Irishman.”

Celebrimbor nodded quietly. He had a hunch who the Elven harpist might be and was determined to ask his uncle about it when they met. He walked back to his hotel and went to bed, fearing sleep would be a long time coming. His fears were unfounded as he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

******

Celebrimbor woke the next morning feeling well rested but still nervous. Going down to the dining room for breakfast felt like an insurmountable obstacle, so he decided to splurge and order room service instead. His nerves were still playing up and he ended up eating only a fraction of the food that was delivered. As he was pouring his second cup of coffee, there was a knock on the door. 

This was it. He would meet his uncle for the first time in millennia, and he still had no idea what he was going to tell him, whether he should just fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness or try to explain his deeds first. He approached the door and tried to remind himself that if he died from asphyxiation because he forgot to breathe, it would defeat the purpose of being rehoused, not to mention be really stupid. Námo would likely not give him a second chance.

He opened the door and took a few steps back, not daring to look at the figure standing outside. There was a long silence before Celebrimbor backed into the room, making a small gesture of welcome.

The door closed behind his uncle. He gazed up shyly, noting the mane of black hair with a few streaks of silver, the beat-up leather jacket, the guitar case resting against one leg. Then the guitar tumbled to the floor as the man in front of him took a few long steps and swept him up in an embrace.

“Tyelpë… Tyelpë, oh little one… let me look at you! Oh Tyelpë… _ancalimon_ … _hinya_ …”

The familiar Quenya words shredded all semblance of control. It was all Celebrimbor could do to keep upright, clinging to his uncle, hot tears pouring from his eyes while he stuttered and wailed.

“I’m so sorry uncle… so so sorry…”

**Author's Note:**

> It began with the tag #Poor Celebrimbor.


End file.
